James Axler – Watersleep

Boy and mutie stared at each other.

Then the Hispanic woman passed by and called out, “Morning, Carl.”

The Dweller slowly raised a hand in greeting to the woman.

“He won’t hurt you, Dean,” she said, continuing back on her way.

“You’re welcome to the sink. I was just finishing up,” the boy said, stepping away from the well and the small bathing area.

Dean didn’t look back as he walked fast into the large communal tent with the picnic tables where he’d dined the evening before. There were a few of the commune members inside. At a rear table by himself with a platter of leftover white fish, fried potatoes and scrambled eggs was Doc.

“The sun always rises, and so does youth—even­tually,” Doc said.

“How’s it hanging, Doc?” Dean snorted back as he sat down across from the old man.

“By a thread, dear boy. I fear it may soon drop off altogether.”

“Where is everybody?”

“Out on a scouting mission. Your father wishes to learn more about Admiral Poseidon. I believe he in­tends to challenge him over the unfortunate deaths of Krysty and Jak,” Doc said after chewing up a mouth­ful of meat and eggs.

“Damned straight.”

“Beware the enticement of revenge, Dean.”

“Eye for an eye, Doc. This Poseidon has it com­ing.”

“Perhaps.”

“Why didn’t he take me?”

“It was decided to let you sleep in. I promised to tell you what was going on when you awakened. Frankly I did not feel much like getting up myself,” Doc said conspiratorially. “My mind is back, but my body is still lacking.”

Dean got up and walked over to a stack of wooden plates and utensils. He returned with one and a glass of water.

“Mind sharing?” he asked, gesturing toward the repast Doc was filling his own plate from.

“Not at all. Dig in.”

Dean did. “I got to tell you, Doc. I like eating fish better than talking to them.”

“Oh, you have met Carl,” Doc replied. “He is quite the conversationalist.”

“No, but he makes up for it in odor. Those Dweller guys stink!” Dean said.

“They are part fish, young Cawdor, what do you expect?” Doc replied, keeping his attention on his third helping of food. “Their scent was like pure am­brosia when they showed up at our raft.”

“There’s a man with a well-trained nose,” inter­jected Shauna, who had stepped under the protective awning and into the tent in time to hear the end of the conversation. “You two didn’t want to go with the others?”

“I did, but they wouldn’t let me,” Dean grumbled.

“And I,” Doc added with a slight burp, “I am still weary from our sea voyage. Let the others scheme and plot this morning. I shall sup from this bountiful breakfast until I have had my fill, and then I plan to return to my deep slumber.”

“That’s fine,” the woman said, turning to step back outside. She held off, then swung her sleekly muscled body back to face Dean.

“By the way, Ryan Jr.—” she began.

“Name’s Dean.”

“I’d watch my words around here when com­menting on the Dwellers. They’re a mite sensitive about having their mutie traits so baldly pointed out, especially from a runt like you. They can’t help being what they are. Now, you might be—”

Dean interrupted her for a second time. “I call them as I see them. Or smell ’em.”

Shauna’s right hand shot up like it was spring pro­pelled from where she’d been resting it lightly on the edge of the wooden camp table. Her steely fingers grabbed Dean by the earlobe and squeezed. He bucked in his chair and cried out, more in surprise than pain.

“Interrupt me again, and I’ll toss you off the near­est dock myself,” she said. “Didn’t your daddy teach you anything about manners?”

“Lady, if you don’t let go of me, my dad will slice you into so many pieces, your fishy friends won’t be able to find enough left to use as cut bait,” Dean said, but much of the bravado had leaked out of his voice like air from a burst balloon.

“He’ll have to chill me first, Junior, and you’ll still be dead.”